


To Hold Still, and Breathe

by sixappleseeds



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 16:12:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12391590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixappleseeds/pseuds/sixappleseeds
Summary: After their last game, Bitty goes looking for Jack





	To Hold Still, and Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during [chapter 14](http://checkpleasecomic.com/comic/02-14-01) of year two

By the end of his second season, Bitty felt pretty familiar with the noises of a post-game locker room. On the days they got a W there were chirps and shouts and snorts of laughter, corny pop-songs blaring on the speakers and random bursts of applause. Even after a loss the room was full of sound -- muted, maybe, but the coaches would still give their speeches, there’d still be murmured “good games” and hands slapped on backs. Jack would still be there, offering quiet words, especially to the guys who looked like they really needed some affirmation. 

But tonight the room was so quiet Bitty could hear Rans unlace his skates from five stalls away. A few reporters hovered awkwardly in the hall; Coach Murray walked over, murmured something that had all of them scrambling for their recorders, and then gently closed the door. Lardo studied her clipboard like she’d find a different outcome there while Chowder hunched in his seat, openly crying into his blocker. Dex looked shell-shocked, and Shitty was pulling his sweat-matted hair into a bun, then releasing it, then pulling it tight again. Bitty watched for a moment, his own laces tangled between his fingers. 

Jack’s stall was empty.

It remained empty through Coach Hall’s little speech, and as they changed and stowed their gear. The first few folks, a sniffling Chowder among them, hefted their bags. There was a bus to catch, Bitty remembered, and a night in a hotel. One last night. Tomorrow was Sunday. He had a paper due Tuesday. The world kept moving.

Bitty stared at Jack’s shoes, neatly stowed and incongruously bright in their stall, and caught Shitty staring at him.

“I’ll find him,” Bitty said.

Shitty nodded. A few stray wisps of hair had drifted out of his bun and he tugged it all down again. “I’ll tell Coach to hold the bus?”

Bitty glanced around the room once more. Coach Murray, now talking with Lardo, met his eye and half-nodded. 

“Thanks,” Bitty said to Shitty. 

When Bitty poked his head out the door, he found that the press had, mercifully, moved on. As he trotted back toward the ice, sandals scraping against the mats, he saw little groups of straggling fans heading up toward the concourse, gently herded by tired-looking arena staff. Janitors cleared piles of blue and white confetti with push brooms, earbuds in, while others bagged trash and recycling. 

The world kept moving, but in this moment Bitty wished for even an hour to just hold still.

Though he probably only spent five minutes looking, each empty side-corridor he passed made his belly clench. Surely Jack hadn’t left. He didn’t even have his skate guards, let alone shoes. He was here somewhere. He must be.

Finally, so frantic he almost missed them, Bitty spotted Jack’s sweater and skates, laying in a heap near the exit to a loading dock. He skidded to a stop.

The dock’s swinging doors opened quietly enough, but this far into the depths of the arena the sound echoed like a clap of thunder. And there was Jack, hunched on a set of pallets, his face in his hands. His shoulders shook.

Bitty gripped the edge of the door. Even if Jack hadn’t wanted to be found, Bitty reasoned, suddenly unable to move, it was good that he’d gone looking for him. It was still the right thing to do. As his heart pounded and his adrenaline lurched toward shivering doubt, Bitty told himself this as firmly as he could.

Then Jack lifted his head.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Bitty whispered. Later he could never be certain if he’d said this aloud, but the sound of the door closing behind him made it a moot point. He’d crossed the loading dock floor before knowing he was going to, wrapped his arms around Jack, and pressed his face into the pad on Jack’s shoulder. 

Jack shuddered again. Bitty saw a tear, and then another, fall onto Jack’s lap, and then he closed his eyes. There weren’t any good words to say. No reassurances, no little speeches or comforting affirmations to fill the space. Just the twisting knowledge that they’d both done their best tonight, and it wasn’t enough. The world kept moving. Bitty held onto Jack for a few minutes longer. 

Finally Jack sighed, so deep Bitty felt his hair ruffle with it. He shifted, snaked an arm around Bitty’s waist and pressed his cheek to Bitty’s hair in a way that Bitty would spend the next several weeks reconstructing in his head, and then he sat back.

Bitty peered up at him, and watched with some relief as Jack’s gaze softened away from the aching grief Bitty had seen there a few minutes ago. 

“I guess I should get changed,” Jack said, voice a little scratchy around the edges.

But he’d mustered up half a smile from somewhere, so Bitty made a show of rubbing his own cheek and then thwacked Jack’s shoulder pad lightly. “You certainly should,” he said. “I can’t imagine those are very comfortable at this point.” 

Jack’s eyes warmed another few degrees, and Bitty was acutely aware of the weight of Jack’s arm, still around his waist. Then Bitty stood, and Jack stood with him.

“Come on, Bittle,” Jack sighed. “Bitty. Shits is holding the bus for us, isn’t he?” 

“It hasn’t been that long,” Bitty said. He held the door open and watched as Jack collected his sweater and skates. They started back down the corridor.

“You have a quiz on Tuesday, right?” Jack asked a few minutes later. A janitor paused in her sweeping, nodded at both of them as they padded by.

“It’s a paper, and I already have my outline done and sources cited.”

For some reason this made Jack laugh. Bitty shot him a glance, prepared to defend his academic habits, and saw such fondness in Jack’s expression that he had to look away again. But he knew he was smiling, too.

Jack nudged Bitty’s shoulder as they neared the locker room. “Haus brunch tomorrow, maybe?” he said. “To cheer up the guys?” 

Bitty bumped Jack’s hip. “Oh, are you offering?” Bitty had been planning to make brunch anyway, but there was no reason to tell Jack that.

Jack’s grin was all the way real this time. “Well,” he said. “I’m good at flipping pancakes.”

Bitty opened the locker room door. “Meet me in the kitchen at eleven, we’ll see how good you are.” 

The world kept moving. As Jack smiled down at him, Bitty finally felt ready to face it.


End file.
